


The Fall

by Fandom_Stuff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandom_Stuff/pseuds/Fandom_Stuff
Summary: Sherlock must travel the world to dismantle Moriarty's network. This is Sherlock's version of those two years that John had to live without him.*I will be returning to this story at some point, but right now I have lots of other fics I'm working on, but I haven't forgotten about this one*





	The Fall

“Goodbye John.” The words came out over strained tears and Sherlock saw John’s mouth open in a scream, he heard his name being shouted in a terrified shriek. The tears he had cried moments ago were still slick on his cheeks. “I’m sorry John,” he muttered as he hit the air bag and scrambled off it at lightning speed. Sherlock raced around the ambulance station and saw John briefly out of commission on the ground. He slid into place on the ground and felt the blood being dribbled onto his face. He placed the squash ball under his armpit and opened his eyes wide, just as John rounded the corner.

“I’m a doctor let me come through please. No, he’s my friend. He’s my friend. Please.” John’s words were muffled by grief and shock and it took all of Sherlock’s courage not to jump from the ground and tell John he was alive, that he was okay. He felt someone tug on his shoulder and he rolled into it, keeping his eyes wide and trying to keep his breathing very minimal. “No, God no,” John’s voice still reached Sherlock’s ears. “Please no.” Sherlock caught the slightest glimpse of John collapsing to the ground as he was lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled away. 

Once out of sight Sherlock practically leaped off the stretcher and looked through the gap in the doors. John was still where Sherlock had left him but he was standing. People were surrounding him asking if he was okay and John would shrug them off or even shout at them to leave him alone. “Best not dwell here longer than needed brother mine,” Mycroft’s hand found Sherlock’s shoulder and he felt the slight squeeze Mycroft’s fingers produced as reassurance. 

Sherlock nodded slightly and tore his eyes away from the grieving John. “You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “Alright Mycroft, you’re giving me a week of planning before I’m shipped off to dismantle 

Moriarty’s network so start talking. Where do I start?” 

Mycroft smiled slightly and led Sherlock out of Bart’s into a car at the back. As they drove Mycroft started to talk. “Now, there are many strings that make up Moriarty’s network. His little band, is made up of hundreds if not thousands of people, you won’t get out of this unscathed, you may not even get out of this alive.” 

“Well I’m already dead to the world aren’t I, so that doesn’t matter,” Sherlock said blandly. “Where are you shipping me first?” 

“You’re going to start in Nigeria. I’ll give you the basic layout of what you’re supposed to do once you’re there, but the rest is up to you. I’ll give you the amount of time you’re allowed to stay there before Moriarty’s people will begin to suspect something is wrong. It is very important that you catch your flight when leaving Nigeria because if you don’t there will not be another flight for a few months and that would throw off our entire schedule.” 

“Where am I going after that?” Sherlock asked.

“Best not tell you brother mine. If you are caught we don’t want our plan in the enemy's hands.” 

“I don’t slip up Mycroft,” Sherlock said flatly. 

“There’s a first time for everything,” Mycroft replied. 

Sherlock sniffed slightly and then asked, “Is that all?” 

“Yes, so far. We’ll brief you right before you leave.” 

****  
Sherlock wasn’t allowed to leave Mycroft's Manor for fear that he would be spotted, but on his last day Sherlock snuck out anyway. He hailed a cab, careful to keep his face hidden and changed his tone of voice when addressing the cabbie. He had been keeping tabs on John while he was cooped up in Mycroft’s house and knew that his funeral had been yesterday and John was heading back to his grave site. Sherlock arrived before John and hid in the trees bordering the graveyard near his gravestone. John and Mrs. Hudson walked across the cemetery to his grave. John said he was angry, Sherlock didn’t blame him. Mrs. Hudson left and then it was just John. He shut his eyes and let out a breath. 

“Um..mhm. You um, you told me once that you weren’t a hero, um, there were times when I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this, you were the best man, the most human, human being that I have ever known, and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. So there.” He stepped across the grave and placed his hand on the headstone, “I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” John started to walk away but then turned back, “and one more thing, one more miracle Sherlock for me, don’t be…” he swallowed hard. “Dead.” His voice cracked, Sherlock felt the tears fall off his chin, his heart was breaking slowly in his chest. John continued, “would you do that, just for me, just stop it, stop this.” John cried silently for a few moments, every soldier-like aspect of John Watson was gone from him in a moment of grief, he’s tears were falling steadily and his shoulders shook with the effort. Sherlock wanted to run from his hiding spot, to embrace him, to tell him that he was here, that his wish would come true, but he knew he had to remain rooted to the spot and watch his best friend grieve. John wiped the tears from his eyes and straightened up, his soldier performance was back on, he nodded at the headstone, then turned swiftly and walked away. Sherlock watched, his face grave, his heart aching. Once John was gone he slipped from his hiding place and went to stand before his own grave. 

The fresh dirt that covered his coffin held the imprint of John’s shoe and Sherlock crouched close to the ground and touched the footprint. His hands shook and tears fell to the ground just as John’s had moments ago. “I’m here John, I’m here. I’m coming back, I promise,” he whispered to the grave. “I promise.” 

“Sherlock!” Sherlock stood up so fast he felt dizzy, it was only Mycroft. “What are you doing here, you could have been seen? Did John see you? What were you thinking?” Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the arm and started to drag him across the cemetery.

“I wasn’t seen Mycroft,” Sherlock said trying to hide his tears. 

“You shouldn’t have been out here,” Mycroft retorted sharply. They entered the car and drove from the graveyard. 

“I had to see him,” Sherlock replied, his voice breaking.

Mycroft’s frown of disapproval turned into a slightly upturned smile of pity, “I’m sorry.” Sherlock shut his eyes, “I wish it could have been different.” 

“You know why he can’t know,” Mycroft said.

“I know,” Sherlock replied. “That doesn’t mean I can’t wish it were different.” 

“What’s gotten into you brother? Sentiment?” Mycroft asked, his tone suggesting a slight joke. Sherlock answered seriously.

“Yes.” 

Mycroft didn’t talk again until they arrived at the airport. Sherlock’s bag was loaded onto the plane and then it was just Sherlock and Mycroft. “So, once you reach Nigeria you will get off the plane, go to the remote hotel we set up for you. In two days you should start your investigations, this folder tells you everything you need to know,” Mycroft handed him the folder and Sherlock took it.

“Thank you,” he said.

There was a pause, “I guess this is goodbye,” Mycroft said.

“Mm,” Sherlock nodded. 

Mycroft held out his hand, “good luck, brother mine.” 

Sherlock took his hand but pulled Mycroft into a hug. The older Holmes stiffened slightly but then he hugged Sherlock back briefly. “Goodbye Mycroft,” Sherlock said as they pulled apart. Sherlock started on his way but then stopped and turned back, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’m not planning on actually dying Mycroft, but in the off-chance that I do I guess I’d better say--while sentiment has still got a hold on me-- that in some twisted way, I do love you Mycroft.” 

Mycroft smiled, “I love you too Sherlock.” 

Sherlock nodded curtly and stepped onto his plane. As it took off Sherlock looked out over London, somewhere down there John was grieving for his best friend, not knowing he was alive, that he sacrificed himself to save his life. 

Sherlock looked at the folder in his hand, the stamp of Confidential was across the front. Sherlock sighed and opened it. Inside was a file labeled plainly: Nigeria. He skimmed the sheet of paper and sighed. All he had to do was find the headquarters for Moriarty’s network in Nigeria and infiltrate it with the key code on the paper he was holding. Shouldn’t be too hard, he just had to make sure he didn’t get caught. 

When the plane landed Sherlock left quickly, carrying his small bag that held only his essentials. He walked to the hotel Mycroft had told him about just so he could get his bearings and get to know the place he would be spending some time in. It was getting dark so Sherlock ate the dinner the hotel offered and went back to his room. He sat on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His heart ached sharply in his chest, it ached for John and for 221B, it ached for solving cases with John, for being bored in the flat and having John yell at him for stealing his browning again, it ached for home, home was John, and Sherlock missed him terribly. It took Sherlock hours to fall asleep, and once he did it was a restless sleep, and he was only asleep for three hours before waking up. It was the bed, it wasn’t his bed, he wasn’t in his flat, John wasn’t just a floor above him, he was miles away from John, and John thought he was dead. 

Sherlock got up and went outside. Drinking in the morning air, he started to read people. If he could read the right person at the right time they could lead him to Moriarty.  
Woman around 35, single, parents divorced father died not long after. Man, 46, married, two daughters, served in the military. Girl, 16, lives alone, not educated but smart. Sherlock cocked his head to examine the girl more closely, that’s when he saw the bulge of a gun in her coat pocket, Sherlock moved forward. 

“Hey!” Sherlock called to her. The girl spun around warily. 

“What do you want?” she asked, her hand resting carefully in her coat pocket. 

“I’d like to talk with you, somewhere private,” Sherlock whispered.

“I’m not leaving a heavily populated area to go off with a strange man who is clearly not from here.”

Sherlock grinned, “fine, but I know you’re looking for James Moriarty’s little hideout here. So am I.” 

The girl narrowed her eyes, “I don’t trust you.” 

“It might interest you to know that Moriarty is dead and my name is Sherlock Holmes.” 

“Yes I know,” the girl said, “But, Sherlock Holmes is dead too.”

“I’m the world's best and only Consulting Detective do you really think I don’t know how to fake my death,” Sherlock replied.

“Still,” the girl hadn’t moved her hand from her pocket. “I need cause to trust you.” 

“Well I don’t think a bullet will help in our current relationship,” Sherlock said, he reached his hand out towards her but she pulled away. 

“If you are who you say you are, then prove it,” she said sharply.

“You’re just wasting time.”

“I said prove it,” the girl snapped. 

Sherlock sighed, “you live alone and are around 16 years old, at least that’s what you want the world to think, you’re actually in your early twenties, you never went to school but you’re incredibly smart. You’re father was in the military but died early on, you wanted to follow in his footsteps so you skipped out on school and joined the military, you just recently got discharged for bad behavior, but you actually just found out that Moriarty had to do with your father’s death, it wasn’t a military casualty, so you got yourself out of the army. Now you’re searching for the man responsible, or the people, since Moriarty is dead and I have just wasted a whole minute and a half reliving your life story when we could have been finding out where Moriarty was operating from.” 

The girl was staring at him in shock but she recovered quickly, “so you are Sherlock Holmes.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “yes there’s no need to repeat what I have already told you, now are we going or not, because I can always go by myself.” 

“No we’re going,” the girl said. “I’m Amaya by the way.” 

“Where do you suggest we start looking Amaya?” Sherlock asked.

“Since when does Sherlock Holmes ask people simple questions?” 

“Since I don’t know Nigeria like I know London and I have found a resident who knows things about this place I don’t,” Sherlock replied curtly.

“Well, I suggest the old hotel on fifth street,” Amaya replied. “It’s old but I’ve seen people going in it often enough that aren’t normal citizens.” 

“Hmm.” Sherlock squinted at the outline of the hotel in the distance, “yes, we should start there.” 

When they entered the hotel it was dark and smelt of blood. Amaya pulled out her gun and Sherlock let her lead. They rounded corner after corner expecting to find people, but there was nothing. Sherlock and Amaya started upstairs. He took the stairs two at a time and burst through a door to find a man sitting in a chair his black hair slicked back and his eyes watchful. Amaya aimed her gun at him, Sherlock approached cautiously, “Don’t take another step,” the man said. Sherlock stopped where he was and assessed the room. Two cameras in the corners, a trigger system in front of the man’s chair, step too close it sets off an alarm and opens the cabinet to reveal a gun, the man is in his 40’s and he’s slightly blind. “They said you would come, they said beware of Sherlock Holmes. But Sherlock Holmes is dead or we thought he was.” 

Sherlock smiled, “we’re just here to shut this operation down, no one needs to get hurt.” 

Before Sherlock could say anything Amaya’s gun kicked backwards and the man lay dead in his seat. Sherlock spun on her, “you didn’t have to do that!” 

“Yes I did, he killed my father,” Amaya retorted.

“Moriarty killed your father not that man. We could have learned from him but now his knowledge is scattered across the back of his chair!” Sherlock snapped. Before she could say anything else Sherlock  
held up his hand. “Come on, there are more people in this building and you’ve just alerted them as to our presence.” 

They left the room, Sherlock in the lead, and made their way down the hallways. The sound of footsteps made Sherlock stop, Amaya tightened her grip on her gun but Sherlock put his hand out to stop  
her. “They could be armed,” she whispered. 

“They might take us somewhere useful,” Sherlock replied. 

The waited in silence, no one rounded the corner and Sherlock began to creep forward slowly. After a few turns down the hallway they came to a door marked with an X. A blinking keypad was beside it and Sherlock smiled, the key code. 

“How do we get in?” Amaya asked. 

“I know the code,” Sherlock replied. 

“How do you know the code?” Amaya asked. 

Sherlock smirked, “I’m Sherlock Holmes.” Quickly he typed in the code, remembering the black numbers on the piece of paper he had received from Mycroft.

22035479914

His fingers flew across the keypad and the door opened with a click. He stepped inside, followed closely by Amaya. There was no one in the room, but there was a large desk with a computer on top of it. “Search the room,” Sherlock ordered. “We don’t want any unwanted company.” 

Amaya nodded in understanding, “what are you going to do?” 

“I’m going to have a look at that computer,” Sherlock replied, he was already halfway across the room. He swung the chair around and sat down. He opened the computer, the screen displayed a password  
box. Sherlock quickly examined the keypad, but saw that whoever operated this computer always wore gloves. He scanned the room, looking for anything that may have prompted a password. Then his eyes shot open. Of course, this was Moriarty after all and even Moriarty could be predictable. He entered the passcode. 

BACH  
00010 00001 00011 01000 

Sherlock smiled as the computer opened for him. Only there was another password box. Sherlock sighed and thought back to all his encounters with Moriarty, everything he did, who he interacted with. Then let out a small laugh. Irene Adler had been somewhat of a client of Moriarty, she might have something to do with his passwords.

THE WOMAN  
10100 01000 00101 10111 01111 01101 00001 01110 

Not to Sherlock’s surprise there was one more box for a string of numbers. He knew what this one would be without even a second thought.  
JOHN  
01010 01111 01000 01110 

Sherlock’s eyes raced over multiple codes and names and plans. Sherlock was at the center of the web. 

“There’s no one here!” Amaya called. 

Sherlock didn’t look up from the computer, “good.” 

He clicked on a file and found the a list of people who were operating Moriarty’s ‘web’ in Nigeria. Quickly he began to type an email. Threat neutralized. Stand down. Was all he sent but he knew it would do the trick. With that out of the way he closed the computer and met Amaya at the center of the room. 

“What now?” she asked. 

“Follow me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I'm going to be honest I don't know when the next chapter will be up. It really depends on the response I get from this first chapter and if people really like it. So please let me know if you want more!
> 
> Also, I just wanted to say, if anyone was confused by the numbers (ex:00100) it's from when Moriarty is trying to trick Sherlock into thinking he really has a key to open every door, it's the rhythmic number pattern and I just used it as password codes.


End file.
